


Fourth of July

by idlebrit



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, I just got here from ff.net how do I tag things omfg, Modern day London, well more like mention of America
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 07:19:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11397750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idlebrit/pseuds/idlebrit
Summary: Arthur tries to deny that there's one day of the year in particular he would rather forget.





	Fourth of July

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is a fic that I abandoned a while ago, but I wanted to finally give it a shot at life online ;A; (and it seems like the appropriate day to do so)  
> Please feel free to critique my writing, I'm always looking to improve! Hope you enjoy!

Arthur Kirkland, no matter how aloof he seemed to the world, took pride in the fact he could blend in with the everyday crowds of London. Some days when he was free from the confines of his office, he would wander around the city without carrying the burdens of his identity, and toured the many museums and attractions that were on offer, or simply explored the lesser walked streets to discover something new. Although he wouldn’t admit it, he was even filled with pride when a tourist stopped to take a picture, even of the most insignificant thing. To him, it showed that people took an interest in the capital of his small island nation. It always amazed him to see this diversity of people and personalities that bustled through the city, whether they were young or old, tourist or resident, worker or student. The constant buzz of conversation was like music to his ears. 

However on other days, or at least one in particular, Arthur found himself thinking that he couldn’t care less. The weather reflected his mood, as the sky appeared to be at war with itself; steel grey clouds twisting over one another and letting out deep growls of thunder that sounded like canon blasts. Everything on the street below had been thrown into shadow, only to be illuminated by the sharp forks of lightning that tore through the darkness every few seconds. There were no bright clothes to counter the monochrome day, no animated chatter the lift his spirit, and no sympathy for the tourists he rudely elbowed out of the way while he sneered at them for stopping in the middle of the pavement. It was only after he spotted them using maps as makeshift umbrellas, and felt his hair and clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin, that he realised it had been raining for quite some time. 

He had been so zoned out, trudging along the pathways without a destination, that he had completely ignored the heavy bullets of rain beating down and chilling him to the bone. On any other day Arthur would brush this off with a laugh, knowing he was famous for his less than sunny weather, but on this day it just acted as another reminder of what he was trying to forget. 

Arthur was broken out of his memories as his phone abruptly began to ring from one of his pockets. With a sigh, he chose to ignore it and continued down the street at a faster pace, almost as if he thought he could walk away from the sound inside his jacket. He had no intention of speaking with anyone today, and had only left the house as he became too restless with nothing to distract him from his miserable thoughts. Bringing the phone was routine, and he cursed himself under his breath at not thinking to leave it behind.  
No matter; whoever it was would eventually ring off after being so obviously ignored. But what Arthur didn’t foresee was the caller trying again and again and again to get a hold of him. Eventually, he pulled the phone out of his pocket and answered it before looking at the caller ID with an enraged shout of 

“What the bloody hell do you want?”

“That’s a horrible way to greet a friend trying to help, no?” a familiar but unexpected accent replied on the other end.

“I’m not in the mood for this, frog face.” Arthur grumbled in reply, ducking under the cover of a Tube station nonetheless in order to focus on the call, and hopefully improve the reception during the storm.

“I thought I should check up on you, and I was absolutely right. I know something is wrong with you Arthur, your insult sounded so half-hearted.”

“Bugger off, you wine drinking idiot, there’s nothing wrong with me!”

“Ah, much better.”

“If you think you’re helping yourself here, you’re really not.” Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was vaguely aware of the other travellers in the station giving him a wide berth after hearing his last few outbursts, and made a conscious effort to lower the volume of his voice. 

“Say something worth my time or leave me alone.” He muttered, hearing a sharp exhale in exasperation before the Frenchman replied in a tone slightly softer than before.  
“You shouldn’t let the bad history of your citizens get in the way of friendship. I know it’s something of a nuisance when people like us disagree, as war gets involved rather quickly, but you can’t stay bitter about this one event. After all, you speak to him for the rest of the year.” 

“What makes you think I’m bitter? I think you’ll find I’m perfectly happy year round.” Arthur hissed through gritted teeth, his grip tightening on the phone.

Francis had the nerve to laugh briefly at this comment, before continuing with the main focus of his conversation. “Come now, if you had nothing against him after all this time, you wouldn’t coop yourself up on this day annually.”

“I do not “coop myself up”, thank you very much!”

“Then why are you being so defensive about it?”

“Because you’re being so bloody wrong about it!” Arthur was struggling to keep himself composed.

“I’m not, and you know it. Can you not remember your excuses in these past years?”

“… No.”

“Your lying hasn’t improved at all, Arthur.” Francis sighed. 

Arthur remained silent in response, frustrated at how easily he had been caught out. It’s not like he had intentionally set aside something to do on this day every year, and it was rude of Francis to assume that nothing went on in his life that would require him to stay in his home country every once in a while. 

For instance, one year when Alfred had invited him to America, he was having a terrible case of hay fever that meant he had to stay indoors for weeks to avoid any pollen getting inside. Just because it was the first time this had happened in a few centuries didn’t make it an excuse, did it? Another year, he had been overrun with paperwork and spent days sat at his desk to complete it all, and decided that after so much hard work he deserved a break at the pub. It just so happened that while he was there, only on the verge of being tipsy, Francis had walked in and accused him of lounging around there all day. 

“So where are you at the moment that stops you from speaking to him?” Francis enquired when he realised Arthur wasn’t going to reply to his last comment.

“Uh”, Arthur hesitated, “I’m just on the way to visit the royal family. See how William and Kate are getting on with the kids. Terribly sorry I have to hang up soon, I’m almost there now.”

“Ah, of course”, Francis replied smoothly, “that’s why you’re standing in Tower Hill tube station looking like a confused, drowned rat.”

Arthur’s heart almost stopped in shock, and he whirled around wildly to see how Francis had known where he was. He finally glanced outside to see a man standing still in the rain while streams of people flowed around him to enter and leave the station. A large umbrella kept his wavy blonde hair and designer suit bone dry. The man lowered the arm that had been raised to his ear, and Arthur could hear the line on his phone going dead. Francis stepped forward, ducking quickly under the cover of the station and lowering his umbrella. He raised an eyebrow at Arthur and seemed thoroughly unamused.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about, you not being yourself. On any other day you would have noticed me following you by now. What is it you say? That you can sense my cheap flashiness a mile off? You always had a way with words.”

Arthur was surprised to see that Francis was in his country, and had just registered that the last few sentences had been spoken to his face rather than on the phone. He took his mobile away from his ear awkwardly and stuffed it back in his pocket while thinking of something to respond with.

“Well. I’m not boarding a plane for some grand reunion if that’s what you have in mind.” He sharply said after a pause. 

Francis simply gave a smirk, reopened his umbrella, and made a sweeping motion with his free hand past the protection of the station into the torrential rain, inviting Arthur to follow him. The Brit’s shoulders fell as he admitted defeat, and the two went in search of a cab to take them back to his house.

~*~*~

“I can’t believe you made us stop half way back for you to grab alcohol.” Arthur wandered into the wood panelled drawing room, rubbing a towel across his hair. As soon as he got in from the rain, he had peeled off his soaking clothes and had taken a shower to warm up. In the same space of time, Francis had claimed one of the plush chairs across from the fireplace, rested his feet on a coffee table, had gone through two glasses of wine, and was pouring himself a third.

“There was no way I’m drinking the disgusting stuff you class as wine.” Francis snorted, swirling the red liquid around in his glass. He then gestured to the empty bottle sitting at his feet. “You also took a little too long cleaning up, I’m afraid there’s none left for you.”

Arthur glared back at him. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible house guest?”

“Only you, mon ami. However, what I lack in skill as a house guest, I can make up for in cooking. Whereas you tend to set the kitchen on fire and burn food to literal ashes, which I must admit is a talent in itself.” Francis took a sip of wine, enjoying the look of anger that flared up on Arthur’s face which soon turned to embarrassment. 

“Look, I’m getting fed up now, what do you want? I’m sure you didn’t cross the Channel to mock me in my own home.”

“Quite right, that’s for special occasions only.” Francis gave a small smirk before his tone became serious. “I came here because I wanted to make sure you stopped this one sided fight with the man you once called your brother. The man who used to look up to you as a role model.”

“Exactly, “used to”. Past tense. There’s no point trying to fix things now.” Arthur muttered more to himself than to his companion, collapsing into one of the armchairs opposite him. Francis fell silent at this, clearly thinking his response through before continuing. 

In those moments only the crackling of wood in the fireplace could be heard, and Arthur focused on watching the warm, flickering light that it cast around the room. Almost every piece of furniture had been gently illuminated by the flames, and it somehow made the open space seem smaller and cosier. It was a stark contrast to the memories this day reminded him of, where the fire had burned with such intensity that nothing had survived its charge through the British camps, despite Arthur’s best efforts. Even when he could no longer argue that the fight had been lost, the sounds of cries and gunshots still pierced the air in the following hours. 

Francis’ voice once again brought him back from his thoughts of the past. “You of all people should know Alfred never lost respect for you. He simply grew to be your equal, and no longer needed your constant supervision. If anything, there’s now a few things you could learn from him. You may no longer be an authoritative figure in his life, but you’re still his brother. Still his ally.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at the Frenchman’s speech, finally realising he was getting awfully close to actually showing emotion in a conversation. He was too stubborn to admit that Francis was being painfully accurate about the situation, and reverted back to making scathing comments at every opportunity. He did have a reputation to uphold, after all. “Have you always been this pathetically sappy or have I just not been paying attention for the last few centuries? Wait a minute, I already know the answer to that one.”

“Arthur-” Francis tried to argue, but the Brit interrupted him.

“I just don’t understand what you want me to do here, what’s your point? If you don’t have a reason to be here, kindly leave, and please let the door hit you on the way out.”

“You understand exactly what my point is, Arthur. You’re simply choosing to ignore it. And I’m not going anywhere until you call Alfred.” He crossed his arms over his chest, now scowling at the man sat opposite him.

Arthur weighed his current options. Either he could continue to argue with the Frenchman until they caused a small scale war on his property, or he could swallow his pride and ring Alfred for all of five minutes to appease Francis before ignoring the both of them for the following weeks. Ideally, there would be a third option where he could get the benefit of the latter without having to sacrifice anything, but even Arthur knew there was no way around his choice this time. 

“Fine.” He mumbled.

Francis leaned forwards in his seat, a smirk tugging at his lips “Sorry, what was that?”

“I said fine! Give me a bloody phone before I change my mind.”

Francis tossed a mobile from the coffee table into Arthur’s hands, who simply stared at the device for a few long moments without moving. 

“It doesn’t just call someone if you stare at it, mon ami.”

“I’m well aware of how a phone works, you idiot.” Arthur growled, despite making no signs of doing anything other than awkwardly holding it. Not that Francis could tell, but his stomach was tying itself in knots at the idea of speaking to Alfred on this day, and he was unable to find motivation to unlock the phone and search for the desired number. He stood as still as a statue, playing though all of the possible outcomes in his mind. None of them were good. Arthur was zoned out for long enough that he didn’t even notice Francis slowly walk over to him and pull the phone out of his hands.

“I promise you, it will all be fine in the end.” He murmured, gently placing the device back in Arthur’s grasp. The screen showed nothing but the message calling Alfred F. Jones, and the seconds dragged on as the ringing tone was the only sound to break the now uncomfortable silence that had settled over the room. Just as Arthur was about to turn back and hang up, the call was accepted and a cheery voice enthusiastically answered on the other end.

“Oh, hey Artie! What’s up? I didn’t expect to hear from ya!”


End file.
